


cook up a recipe for my beating heart

by goreallegore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baker Harry, Chefs, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:17:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, what say wanna live with me? I’ll cook Sunday breakfasts,” Niall says.</p><p>“And I’ll make your favorite pastry,” Harry replies.</p><p>“Tarte Tartin.” Cause that’s what their love is. A bit of sour and sweet. </p><p>Or; Niall and Harry cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cook up a recipe for my beating heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glazedsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glazedsun/gifts).



> i'm so sorry if you don't like this. i loved the prompt and tried doing something with it. hopefully, it is to your liking!

"heard the pastry chef has Higgins raving," Louis whispers to Niall who is busy kneading dough for the pastries they've decided to add to the menu.  
  
"New pastry chef?" Niall looks up, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "what about Rick?"  
  
"Mate, he got fired a while ago. Something about misbehaving with one of the customer's, Barbara hated him anyway."  
  
Niall frowns, thinking back to when Barbara had told him about Rick directing profane language towards her. "Good riddance, didn't need a blockhead like that 'round our kitchen."  
  
"Heard another thing," Louis drawls out, a quirk to his smile, his lip curling the slightest. Niall arches his brow, in wait for the rumor, "Mandy said the lad is proper fit. Toned and tatted."  
  
Niall rolls his eyes dramatically, going back to kneading, "totally your type. Does Liam know you're out scouring for potential partners?"  
  
Louis waves him off, "he has nothing to worry about. I was saying that for your benefit."  
  
"Mine?"  
  
"Of course, when was the last time you got laid?"  
  
"Jesus Christ, Lou, we have work to do. Go back to chopping carrots. Julian, remember!" Niall tuts, walking to the wok where the stir fry is cooling down.  
  
\--  
  
Niall's the sous chef at Côte d' Azur. He's been working there ever since he graduated culinary school and got a recommendation from his favorite teacher earning him a spot at a reputable restaurant. Luck had a lot to do with it.

 

It’s Saturday night and he’s closing the kitchen, usually does because he likes knowing where everything is - not to mention he’s allowed to use the kitchen for personal use as well. The head chef, Higgins, adores him. Calls him son, so using the kitchen is no big deal.

 

He’s done cleaning the counters when he sees the light coming out of the baking room. “Huh,” he says to himself, “thought everyone left.”

 

He nudges the door open, sees a lanky figure kneading dough gently, knuckles pressing into the dough leaving behind imprints. Niall doesn’t mean to stare but ends up doing it anyway. The boy precisely rolls the dough in one direction only, until it’s 3 times the width. His work is neat and clean, the edges straight and even.

 

“jus’ gonna keep staring or actually gonna come over and talk to me?” the boy says, breaking the friendly staring contest Niall was having with his stray curl. The tiny brown lock escaping the confines of the chef hat. Niall is endeared.

“late night, probably should be heading home, no?” Niall starts, easing into conversation like they’ve known each other for years. The boy, whose name he still doesn’t know, looks up. He has flour spattered across his cheeks, contrasting the perfect glossy tan of his skin. Niall wants to reach forward and wipe it with his handkerchief but he’s too stuck by the green of the other’s eyes.

“Harry,” he says, offering a dusty hand. Niall takes it, his eyes not leaving the little spots of white – _or is it silver?_ – that diffuses into the green. Niall can’t place the exact color, can’t even think past the brilliant hues that collect together the greenish-white that has him speechless.

“Niall,” he says a little belatedly.

“Niall,” Harry enunciates, the curve of his lips pursing as he tests out Niall’s name. His own name sounding like a foreign melody to his ears. Niall would love hearing it more frequently.

“You’re the new baker!” it clicks, as he leans against the marble slab. “You’re the one Higgins can’t shut up about.”

Harry flushes, Niall can tell from the way the gaps between the flour decorating his face pop a crimson color, can see it in the crinkle of his eyes. A precious dimple carving its way into his cheek.

He waves him off, turning back to the long forgotten puff-pastry, “he’s jus’ droning on. I’m not that great.”

“Staying after hours to make puff-pastry for tomorrow?” Niall pauses.

“Tarte Tartin,” Harry supplies.

“Right. Sounds pretty great to me,” Niall smiles.

Harry ducks his head and busies himself with his work, not taking not rejecting the compliment.

\--

It’s a Sunday afternoon and Harry is tired of going over his bills and other errands he needs to sort out so he decides to go for a run, for mid-march the weather is oddly warm. After running for about two mile he gives in, letting the sweltering heat win as he walks to the nearby park, lying down on the cool grass.

“Tired, mate?” The voice catches Harry off guard and he opens his eyes to a pair of familiar blue ones – Niall. Harry sits up crossing his legs as the other boy mirrors him, “went for a run got too tired and voila. What about you?” Harry points at the plastic bag in Niall’s lap.

“Picked up some things at the store. Was jus’ heading home when I saw you, reckon’ should say hello,” he offers a smile, shinning his pearly whites at Harry.

This is why they haven’t hung out since that fateful night, Niall makes Harry frazzled with his bright smile and easy tone and Harry would like to blame the sun for his clammy hands and the run for his beating heart, but he knows something else might be making it worse. Or someone.

“Yeah,” Harry manages, eyes fixed at the green grass not daring to look up. Once again, he has nothing to say because anything he says will sound childish to his ears and he’s bound to embarrass himself. Niall’s older than Harry and even though it’s not by much but it throws him off. He’s been friends with older people before – heck, he’s dated plenty of older guys, but something is different about Niall and Harry can’t explain it.

“Would ye’ like te’ get some lunch? I make a mean sandwich,” the question throws Harry off. He’s sitting in the middle of a park with his sweaty hair, smelly clothes, flushed cheeks and a beautiful boy is asking him for lunch, _why?_

“Do you now?” Harry jokes, trying to his best to stay calm.

“Kind of an ace cook if you ask me,” Niall retorts, smiling. He’s full on smiling and Harry has to stop himself from reaching forward and smacking his lips to the heart shaped one’s he can’t stop ogling.

“Conceited, aren’t we?” fully knowing how he’s a famous sous chef round town. They work together after all.

“How about you come back to mine and you can see for yourself?” and if Niall meant it to be an innuendo Harry doesn’t ask, instead he politely nods and follows the boy home.

Niall has a two bedroom apartment which is a lot cleaner than Harry and Grimmy’s place has ever been. His books are neatly tucked away on the shelf and there is no clutter on the coffee table, his walls are covered with paintings and he has a guitar laying on the sofa. He must’ve been playing before he went out, Harry notes. Harry hears Niall mumble ‘make yourself at home’ as he heads into the kitchen getting busy with the sandwiches he promised.

They don’t do much, just talk and eat, and then Harry heads home. A smile on his face.

\--

It sort of becomes a habit to just for both boys to stay into the wee hours of the night, cleaning after the kitchen help and sometimes even staying back to test try now creations. Last Saturday, Harry made his specialty, _Tarte Tartin_ , after the prep from the night before. Everyone, and their mother were right, the boy had magic fingers. Niall’s yet to taste a better apple pie, in the words of common men.

“So, heard the pastry chef is staying behind. Just like you,” Louis teases.

They are at Niall’s, it’s lads night, and like any other lads night they do initiatory shots at Niall’s apartment. Liam and Zayn are running a little late so in their absence Niall and Louis are busy setting up the glasses for each of them. Vodka Cranberry shots. Just like Zayn likes it.

“I hate cranberries,” Niall complain, emptying the juice into a jug to mix it with the clear liquid. “Don’t know why we drink this shit when we hate it.”

“Yeah, but Z likes it and you know how becomes a little bitch when we don’t let him choose,” Louis reasons.

“If it wasn’t for his pretty face I would never let this happen.”

“oh, fuck off. We all know he’s your favorite and you’d drink an entire pitcher of this shit if asked to.”

“Suppose’ too late to tell ya’ that I like him more than you,” Niall winks.  


“Wanker,” Louis says, his breathy laugh chorusing over the bite in his words.

\--

The club is raging by the time they get to it, sweaty bodies apparent, loud bass thumping into even the secluded parts of the club. Niall is pleasantly buzzed, reading to down his weight in alcohol. He hasn’t had a night off in months, especially one with his mates, and it has him reeling.

He strolls over to the bar, asking for a pint, and comfortably settles onto one of the bar stools. Unlike Louis who jumps in the crowd head on, Niall likes to sit back and finish his drink first and someone approaches him first, he’s hit jackpot – Liam and Zayn don’t have that problem because being in a committed relationship comes with two guarantees. Sex and Security. Louis calls it the Double-S effect. Says he coined the term. Tosser.

“Hey, there pretty why so alone?” Niall twirls to face the owner of the voice. The lad is decent looking, a stubble casing his cheeks, warm brown eyes – kind of reminds him of Liam just not as pretty – and dark haired. Not quite brown but not black either.

Niall raises his drink, “Jus’ enjoying me drink. Could say the same for you though.”

“Touché,” he looks impressed. “Name’s Eric.”

“Niall.”

“Irish?” he asks.

“No! What gave it away?” Niall waves dramatically. He thinks he should allow himself this. It’s been a while. Since _her_.

Eric laughs, it’s screechy but thankfully it drowns along to the EDM song the DJ is playing. He leans forward, running a hand over Niall’s thigh, his eyes darker than before. “What say we get out of here?” pressing the inside of Niall’s thigh. For some reason it turns him off; the touch a little too close for comfort.

Niall shifts in his chair, “can’t taking me mate home tonight. Am a designated driver, y’know?”

He doesn’t budge, just pushes forward and slips his hand further up towards Niall’s crotch. Niall has to grab a hold of his wrist, his grip loose and in no way threatening. “C’mon, baby, if you say we can go to the bathroom.”

“’M good, thanks though,” he replies, pushing the hand away with slight force.

“Don’t be a tease. It’s not charming,” the guy inches forward, pressing his lips to the shell of Niall’s ear, “would love to see you on your knees.”

“Listen, mate, I said ‘m not interested,” Niall pushes himself off the seat, trying to locate Louis’ distinct pixie haired self when he feels fingers gripping around his wrist. A pull jerks him back into the stranger’s arm, constrained against the counter, Niall suddenly feels like the walls closing in. He feels dizzy, his claustrophobia acting up and his breathing becoming jagged.

The club seems tenfold overwhelming, in any other situation he would be able to shake off the guy and bid him goodbye but everything about this is disorienting. Maybe cause he’s out of practice, hasn’t been out in a while and has lost the finality in his tone, but for all he knows he’s caving and he hates it.

“Don’t play hard to get, darling,” the guy snarls, “I promise to make you feel good too.” He palms Niall through jeans, the sensation sending a repulsive vibe through his body, he feels like throwing up.

‘ _Let me go’_ is at the tip of his tongue when a solid body appears behind Eric, pulling him by his arm and pushing him out of Niall’s space, “think he said he’s not interested.”

“Who the hell are you?” he growls.

“A decent human being. Now fuck off before I call security,” Harry snares, his voice deep and rough. Niall can finally breathe again, his vision no longer blurry, he turns to find a very agitated Eric.

“Like playing hero, pretty boy?” he marches towards Harry, pushing his chest, causing a scene. Niall tugs on Harry’s arm telling him in his own way to let it be. “At least I have the ability to charm people without making them feel uncomfortable.”

Niall pulls Harry, “Come on, he’s not worth it.”

“Pussy,” Eric spits under his breath and Niall doesn’t know what takes over him but he can’t stop himself from turning and punching him in the face. He staggers backwards, his hand cradling the freshly beaten up lip, quivering a little.

“Fuck off,” Niall growls before navigating himself out of the club.

The air outside is a little chilly, he can see his breath fog up, pressing his fingers deep into his pockets the leather rubbing against his fingertips. For the middle of October it’s quite cold, he wonders if it will be a harsh winter, will they get snow finally.

He hears the door opening and closing behind him, the thud making him jerk, alarming of another body coming and standing next to him. Harry’s wearing a light brown suede jacket from what Niall can see from the corner of his eye. It fits him well.

“You knocked that guy out,” he breaks over the looming silence, “didn’t even give me a chance to proper save you.”

Niall chuckles, “can fight me own battles.” He stops to turn to find Harry already staring back, “but thank you. Was getting stuffy and hard to breath, probably would’ve hyperventilated if you hadn’t arrived in time.”

“Sounds like I deserve a reward for my heroic act,” Harry smirks, his lips turning upwards and giving way to the dimples on his cheeks. He’s very attractive, Niall notes.

“Suppose. What d’ya have in mind?” Niall plays along, the streetlight light accentuating the colors reflecting in the green of Harry’s eyes.

“Was hoping you’d help me make a proper meal for my friends. Have them coming over on Saturday and past my baking skills everything is rut,” Harry laughs, and Niall can’t help but frown. It’s not that he was expecting a date but Harry’s tone had sounded otherwise. He can feel the strings pull at his heart, making him squeamish under Harry’s gaze.

He swallows away the disappointment, nodding a yes, because he knows words will betray him.

“Nice. Teach you tomorrow or on Monday?” Niall suggest.

Harry ducks his head, rubbing his neck, if Niall wasn’t sure that Harry isn’t the slightest bit interested he would assume that the boy is flustered. He’s even biting his lips. “Actually, was hoping that maybe you could come over? Cook dinner _together_?”

You know how in movies they say that the main character felt the air knocked out of them? Well, that’s exactly how Niall feels. Can feel his lungs restricting and his heart pulsing.

“Alright.”

\--

“It’s a date,” Louis throws a popcorn in Zayn’s mouth. They’re splayed out on the couch eating the leftover popcorn they made to watch avengers.

“It’s not a date,” he denies readily, haste in his words.

“Zayn, what is it called when a lad invites another lad to make dinner with them?” Louis nudges Zayn’s knees with his foot.

“A Date,” Zayn says nonchalantly.

“Oh, fuck off. Like you’ve never gone over to a girls and not just cooked with her?” Niall asks.

“Well considering I have a girlfriend. No. Eleanor won’t necessarily enjoy hearing that.”

“Whatever, it’s not a date.”

\--

Harry’s place is the opposite of Niall’s, making Niall a little conscious of how he had asked Harry to come home with him randomly one day, its proper decorated – not with artwork from a fellow painter friend. _Zayn_. But art that is usually bought from a gallery. It, also, smells different. Where Niall’s place is embedded with spices he’s found or snagged off of Zayn’s mum, Harry’s place smells sweet. Like someone gave him the sweetest nougat and it has overwhelmed his senses.

The living room is dimly lighted, Niall notices. It’s starting to feel more and more like a date; especially because there is no sign of other people around.

“Must’ve come early, where’s everyone else?” he turns to face his host. He’s parted his hair to right and is wearing tight black jeans and a crisp white button up. The entire look is ravishing, has Niall salivating.

Harry smiles his smile, the one which Niall hasn’t noticed when he’s joking around with Barbara in the kitchen or when Louis is teasing him, but a different smile. Niall takes the comfort in knowing, _thinking_ , it’s for him and only him.

“Actually, think its jus’ you and me tonight.”

“Friends bailed on you?” Niall inquires.

Harry laughs, leading Niall to a small table with two candles lit in the center, a rose pushing out of a twisty decorative piece. “Was thinking I could turn my half-assed way of asking you out into a proper way of asking you out?”

“Like a date?”

“Like a date,” Harry confirms.

Corn beef and mashed potatoes is for dinner, the smell tantalizing Niall’s taste buds, his mouth watering at the sight of food being served. Food he hasn’t eaten in years.

“You made Irish food?” he looks up from his plate.

“Heard you say you missed your Da’s cooking. Thought I’d try a hand at it myself. Can’t promise it’s gonna taste the same as your dad’s but hopefully it’s good enough.”

Niall is even more endeared then he was before.

After dinner they’re sitting on the couch, little to no space between them, watching some movies whose name and plot Niall has forgotten. He can’t get past Harry mindlessly rubbing his hand up and down Niall’s thigh, goosebumps leaving under his touch. He is the happiest he can be, he decides.

“do you think she knows about the gold they’re hiding?” Harry asks, his voice innocent and soft.

“Not sure, ‘m think that…” but Niall is interrupted by soft lips. His heart is throbbing and his head is spinning but Harry is kissing him. Kissing him. So, he kisses him back, his stomach erupting with a million butterflies, his entire body feeling relieved and excited at the same time. It’s too many emotions nothing like he has ever felt before. It’s different and it’s the best.

Harry swipes his tongue across Niall’s lips, sending shivers down his body, he cradles Niall’s face with one hand and the other on his neck; the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on his neck. He gently coaxes Niall to open his mouth, to which he obliges gladly, and he licks into his mouth again and again.

Niall pulls away to catch his breath, gasping the other’s name when he realizes what the time is. It’s quarter to one and he needs to get back because they have work tomorrow but every fiber of his being wants to stay. Wants Harry to ask him to stay.

His ears must be betraying him because hears Harry say, “Stay.”

\--

Harry doesn’t know how it happens. One second he’s hired as the new pastry chef, the second he meets this amazing guy who can cook, and third he finds himself holding hands with said guy. He feels like he’s jumped into an alternate universe where things work out and a lot of effort isn’t required and pretty blond boys are head over heels in love with him. Now he’s not trying to assume or be air-headed about it but the guy looks like the fucking sun and if he has chosen to hold Harry’s hand out of _all_ the other guys in the world then Harry has the right to believe that he has the boy slightly in enamored. Sure, they’ve been together for a few months and calling it ‘love’ is jumping the gun but if Harry is projecting his wave of emotions onto Niall then no one has to know.

It’s not his fault whenever he sees Niall, for a second – just a mere second – he feels as if he’s running short on air. His knees feel weak, and his limbs heavy as if an unknown weight is anchoring him down, his head starts spinning blurring out his vision except the boy in front of him. It’s like Harry’s breathing becomes jagged and he’s convinced that he might be having some sort of spasm, but his stunned body has to say otherwise.

They’re walking back _home_ from work, because that’s what they call it now. _Home_. Hands entwined, jackets tightly wrapped around their bodies, standing in front of the streetlight waiting for the pedestrian sign to turn white. He turns to face Niall, his milky white skin shining, his lips glossy. “Babe, do you think we’ll be together for a while?”

Niall stares back at him, eyebrows knitted together, “what are you talking about?” And that’s when he sees it, for the very first time properly appreciating it under the dappling streetlight, baby blues that run deeper than any ocean he’s ever been to.

Harry looks at the constellation above his head, tiny dots connecting to form shapes and figures, balls of gases burning their life away with every second. He feels infinitely small. So small. “Just that nothing comes along with a guarantee even things you think that did. I guess it has me wondering.”

Niall caresses his cheeks with his free hand, the one not in Harry’s, and demands Harry’s eyes to be to his. Now the feeling is entirely different. Their surroundings blur out the only image standing before him of his boyfriend. “Don’t know about guarantees,” Niall starts, planting a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “But I swear to always hold your hand.”

He moves down to his eyes, gently pressing his lips to Harry’s eyelids, the soft flesh of his lips brushing over Harry’s skin. “Always promise to walk you home.”

Next he kisses his nose, an Eskimo kiss or two. “Promise to tuck you in bed.”

“And say good night?”

Niall presses a soft kiss to his lips, “And say goodnight.”

\--

They stay together for that year, and the next. They even attend Liam and Zayn’s wedding as each other’s plus one. Go to Grimmy’s _I’m not getting married but am in a long term relationship so celebrate with me_ party together. It’s easy as breathing for them. To fit into the spaces that were left by ex-lovers or were never filled to begin with.

A month after their first anniversary Niall comes home to a very poor Harry who is coughing and sneezing at every chance. Niall surprises him with a key and key chain with the words _N + H_ engraved on it. It’s so tiny Harry misses it at first, blearily examining the brass object as he sniffles into another snotty sneeze. Niall doesn’t tell him what it is meant to be, waits for him to recover, and then one day after work takes him to this furnished apartment. Everything is from the catalog Harry had been marking since he graduated college, from the curtains to the silverware. The decorations are precisely placed into their corners, the house clean and spotless.

“What is this? Looks like my dream place,” Harry peers around, touching the leather of the sofa and reveling the touch.

“It is,” Niall affirms.

Harry abruptly turns, eyes wild and confused, “what did you do? Buy everything I ever wanted?”

Niall shrugs. _Shrugs_. Because that’s what he does. Doesn’t say _I love you_ like a normal person. Doesn’t do valentines presents. Doesn’t makes confessions that make your heart melt. Instead, he leaves you speechless. Catches you off guard and gives you a present better than any and everything. Makes Harry question how he got so lucky.

“So, what say wanna live with me? I’ll cook Sunday breakfasts,” Niall says.

“And I’ll make your favorite pastry,” Harry replies.

“ _Tarte Tartin_.” Cause that’s what their love is. A bit of sour and sweet.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
